


An Unseasonable Heat

by Gaqalesqua



Series: Monthly Requests [11]
Category: Elder Scrolls, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Aphrodisiacs, Cunnilingus, Drugged Sex, F/M, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Oral Sex, Sex Pollen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 10:14:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17098691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gaqalesqua/pseuds/Gaqalesqua
Summary: Cicero tends to his Listener after she falls ill.





	An Unseasonable Heat

One of these days, that Stormcloak bastard was going to stop prodding her to join his army.

Ilvis had spent as long as it had taken for her meal to be over before she’d up and strode from his _Palace of the Kings_ with Cicero cackling in tow. If she had to listen to him speak of her importance as a Dragonborn to Skyrim again, he wouldn’t make it to Solitude with the ability to Thu’um.

If at all.

The weather changed a mile or from the city, cold air giving way to the smell of sulphur and the cracked ground near the hot springs. And as if on a damned queue, the heat crept slowly up beneath Ilvis’ cloak. She stuffed her gloves into her pockets, pushing back her hood.

“Cicero has bathed in the hot springs before,” she heard him say. “Had to stab a wolf who wanted to make a meal of poor Cicero!”

For some reason Ilvis was struck with the thought of Cicero in the nude, dagger in hand. Warmth burned her cheeks. The wind was gently brushing up against her skin and Ilvis didn’t _stop_ frowning as it wicked her damp forehead. South was _warmer_ but she shouldn’t have been sweating already. The journey had hardly started. She tugged at her tunic, swallowing.

The next step brushed her thighs together and Ilvis felt the softest breath escape her without warning as heat began prickling beneath her skin.  A few farmers ambled past and she tried not to tug at the waistband of her trousers. Another step, and the seam of her trousers rubbed at her slit. Ilvis inhaled sharply, her jaw clenched. The prickle slid down her spine, up her belly, her nipples peaking beneath the shirt. Only the presence of other travellers kept her from stripping her cloak off.

“Is Listener well?” Cicero piped up. She turned to face him and watched concern flit across his face. “Oh! No, _no_ , Listener! You’re burning!”

“What?” she asked. Her voice cracked around the words and she was suddenly hyper-aware of the tunic that clung to her back, damp with sweat. “I-it’s hot…”

The seat of her trousers clung damply to her thighs. Ilvis felt something _drip_ out of her, inhaling sharply. Her tunic brushed against her stiff nipples and she swallowed down a whimper. Her eyes found Cicero and narrowed. He looked fine. Not bothered. She was bothered.

“Need to…”

Ilvis stumbled on her heel and almost fell onto a nearby rock. Her trousers rubbed against her clit and this time she couldn’t swallow the noise. Cicero caught her and as their bodies collided the heat of him seemed to rush through her. Her arms trembled.

“Oh, we must get you some medicine, Listener!” Cicero cried.

“Clothes too much,” she panted, and yanked her cloak off. It did nothing to soothe the fire in her body.

And pushing off from Cicero, she caught herself on a tree for support. She made it a few feet and collapsed, whimpering, into Cicero’s arms. Ilvis let him pick her up, gasping as her bare arm touched his chest.

“Witchmist,” she whispered. Cicero obeyed, scurrying off towards the grove, friction tormenting her.

She fell out of his arms as they reached the hut, tearing out of her tunic and trousers, kicking off her boots. The air brushed her sweat-damp body as Ilvis crossed into the Hag hut and collapsed onto the bed, rolling onto her back.

“Listener?”

Cicero stood in the doorway. The air blew past him, lighting her senses on fire again.

“Cicero,” she croaked, “the fever…a curse? Daedra?”

“Cicero does not think the Listener is ill,” he whispered. “Or cursed.”

Her brows furrowed. “What?”

“Cicero thinks that the Listener is aroused,” the Jester explained. He gestured to Ilvis’ thighs. They seemed to glisten in the light. “Cicero can help.”

Aroused. Ilvis remembered that word from the priestess of Dibella who had spoken to her about it. “Help how?”

“Oh!” Cicero perked up. Ilvis could _feel_ her heart pounding. “Many things! Cicero is good with his mouth!”

“Good with…what does _that_ mean?” Ilvis demanded. Cicero’s eyes widened.

“Listener does not know?” he whispered. “Listener is…oh, _Sithis!_ Cicero did not realise, oh! Oh, Cicero will be _glad_ to help with just his mouth!”

“Help _how_?” she growled.

“Cicero can show you,” he offered. “If Listener doesn’t like it, Cicero will stop, yes!”

Ilvis paused. He seemed as genuine as ever. Her sex throbbed and she whimpered. “Ok,” she panted. “Ok.”

Cicero practically threw himself forward, and Ilvis yelped at the gentlest brush of his stubble on her thighs, raking fire through her body and forcing her legs tight around his head. He _moaned_. Ilvis clapped her hands over her mouth as his mouth covered her slit. He gripped her thighs, pulling her just wide enough for him to push his face into her crotch. Cicero sucked and Ilvis’ legs snapped tight again as her hips ground furiously into each pull of his lips.

No words. Just pleasure. She could hear her voice in broken hiccups as his tongue swept her, catching a nub of flesh that pulled a muffled scream from her. Ilvis flailed, her body rocking furiously into him. She couldn’t stop it. Instinct guided her, and Cicero’s mouth seemed to know _exactly_ what to do to her. His tongue focused on that little nub that had caused her to scream and Ilvis’ body rushed with heat and cold all at once, her skin prickling. Her vision went dark.

“Cicero!” she shrieked, “oh _Sithis_ , Cicero-!”

Her fingers darted down to lock into his hair. The Jester moaned. Ilvis wondered if he was feeling _half_ as good as she was. His mouth seemed to be stoking a tension that grew between her thighs. He sucked on her again. Ilvis _yanked_. Cicero moaned again and it buzzed against her.

The tension tightened. Ilvis could feel the sweat on her back dampening the bedspread just as Cicero drew one hand away from her waist, tongue dancing over that nub as a finger pushed into her. Ilvis felt her toes curl as another joined it. And then she was quivering, twisting in his grasp as he turned his hand palm-up and began thrusting his fingers in and out of her. Driving her heels against his back, Ilvis lost her breath, and when his other hand snaked up to cup her breast, thumbing her nipple, she felt the tension _snap_.

White light flooded her vision. His tongue and the friction of his fingers combined into one endless, rolling wave of pleasure, stealing her breath, turning her bones to water. Her body quivered, voice breaking in a scream around Cicero’s name as the Jester kept attending her, devoted mouth drawing that pleasure out, dragging it on until, with a sudden scratchy unpleasantness, the touches became _too much_ and Ilvis kicked at him.

Cicero yelped like a stray mutt and fell onto his rear. “Listener?” she heard him squeak. “Oh, no! You are angry, you _are_ , oh Listener, I never-”

“Cicero,” her voice came out raspy, “shut up.”

“Yes Listener.”

Her breath was still heavy as she finally sat up on her elbows. The fire in her had dimmed but she could still feel herself _pulsing_. Something dripped from her.

“What was that?” she asked.

“What as what, Listener?”

“All of it.” She tried to gesture and her hand fell limp.

“Oh! Oh, that was pleasure, Listener. Cicero used his mouth on your sex and gave you an orgasm, and he is happy to do so again since you’re a virgin. Cicero would _never_ defile the Listener in such a way, _no_ ,” the Jester replied, an inane grin on his lips.

“What’s a virgin?”

His jaw fell slack. “The Listener jests.”

“No?”

“Oh, oh!” Cicero gasped. “Oh, Listener! A virgin is someone who has never had sex before! My, Cicero did not realise just how little you knew! Cicero is sorry, Listener, he should have realised.”

“Sex,” Ilvis repeated. “I…know what that is?”

“Cicero is feeling very guilty,” her Keeper mumbled, hanging his head. “Cicero should not be having sex with the Listener.”

Ilvis stared at him. “Why not?” she demanded. “Will it help?”

“Oh, Cicero thinks it might! Did your orgasm help?”

Ilvis nodded. “A…a bit.”

“Oh! Well, perhaps sex might help more, but only if the Listener is really sure,” he began.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“Many maidens wait for their true love, Listener,” Cicero replied.

Ilvis’ brow rose. She thought about what Cicero had just done with his mouth. Her stomach flipped and her breath caught. The heat from before slowly seeped back through her. “Do it.”

His eyes widened. He scrambled to his feet, and before Ilvis knew it, he was tearing himself out of his clothes, tossing them to the floor and exposing himself to her. Ilvis had always known she was formed differently to Cicero but the reddish… _penis_ in front of her was another experience entirely.

And yet her body throbbed at the sight of it and she felt herself drip again.

Cicero clambered onto the bed, and Ilvis stared down at his lap.

“What happens now?” she asked. Cicero leaned back on the mattress.

“Pretty Listener sits on my lap now,” Cicero replied. “When she wants to, of course.”

Ilvis wanted to frown but the instruction from her Keeper renewed that wave of heat and she found herself in his lap before she realised it was happening, his _penis_ pressed up against that nub that had driven her wild. She bucked her hips without thinking and Cicero groaned as she gasped, a new rush of pleasure running through her.

“Sithis,” she groaned. Cicero gripped her hips, and she cooed at the coolness of his fingers on her, lifting her hips gently and coaxing her up. His other hand gripped himself and moved the tip of him to her slit.

Ilvis dropped into Cicero’s lap and the Jester howled. Her nails dug into his shoulders as she bucked again, and the sound as she raised herself up a little was a strange _slick_ noise.

“Listener is very e-enthusiastic,” Cicero croaked, lying back as she kept rocking, her lips parted. The sensation was strange but _oh_ it was good. It was better than his fingers and just like his mouth, it was stoking that fire again. Cicero’s hand slipped between her thighs and Ilvis heard herself howl as his thumb stroked her. Her nails raked his chest and Cicero bucked with a loud yelp. Ilvis drove down against it, her head thrown back, his touch winding that coil of pressure again.

The bed creaked below them as Ilvis grunted, her teeth bared. The need was still burning in her veins as she worked herself into Cicero’s lap and when the Keeper began thrusting up from below, her voice cracked again.

“Fuck,” she growled, her hips bucking furiously. “Oh _Sithis_ , Cicero…”

His thumb rubbed harder and faster and Ilvis’ back arched. Then she melted onto his chest, breasts pressing into his body, head nestled beneath his. His hand was trapped between them and Cicero sat up, gasping as Ilvis’ teeth marked his neck. She felt him tense and relax, lifting just a little, just enough for his hips to rock into hers. More heat prickled beneath her skin, and as his fingers began to stroke her again, Ilvis’ arms wrapped around his neck, pushing herself against him. He had hair on his chest and when it stroked her breasts it just made her _moan_.

“Oh,” she whimpered, squirming with each thrust, “oh, oh _oh-!_ ”

Her thighs pulled up, toes curling, and she felt Cicero push her leg aside and carry on stroking as that tension grew again. She arched. His tongue lapped at her neck. She remembered what else it could do, gasping, and then his teeth sunk in and she shook.

“Listener,” Cicero croaked, and dipped his head. His mouth wrapped around the peak of her breast, tongue teasing at it. Ilvis’ eyes shot open, lips parting, and forgot how to breathe. The tip of him nudged at something inside her and Ilvis felt wetness trickle out of her.

“Fuck fuck _fuck_!” she shrieked, hips rocking fast in his lap and chasing that pressure. A few more strokes with his fingers, the pull of his lips on her breast, and Ilvis was shrieking out again as she unwound, wriggling against the Keeper. Relief rushed through her, not as intense as the first time but still enough to have her chasing his thrusts for _more_ , to satisfy that heat that was still bubbling gently in her veins.

Cicero grunted. She felt him twitch. A new heat filled her, concentrated on her slit, and it dripped out as he kept going, his thrusts getting weaker and choppier.

Then he fell back against the bed, dragging her down too.

“Was that sex?” she asked. Cicero was still panting. “Can you do that thing with your mouth again?”

“Yes,” Cicero groaned, “yes, _yes_ , Listener, _happy to_.”  


End file.
